


Mine for the Night

by Blue Dusk (obiwankenboneme)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7294786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obiwankenboneme/pseuds/Blue%20Dusk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon Solo is a man of many words, usually; it seems that the reader has somehow managed to leave him speechless this time around though. If a mission like this can leave him tongue tied, who's to say he can speak normally when they're /not/ fake married?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine for the Night

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing this, and it felt really inspired, despite being fairly short, which is something I can apologize for. Anyway, I hope you cubs love it as much as I do, and feel free to request things from The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (whether it be Napoleon, Illya, or Gaby!).

Brushing back your hair, you adjust the straps of your dress one last time before looking towards Gaby. “You’re sure this looks alright? I don’t want to look out of place at this gala. Especially if the target is going to be there and I have to woo him.”

Gaby fixes your hair a little before giving you a once over, twirling her finger for you to turn. She smiles brightly when you face her again, clapping her hands excitedly and nodding. “Fabulous. You look exactly like what I would expect from a millionaire’s wife. Do you think Solo will be able to keep it in his pants?”

Rolling your eyes at your friend, you bump her hip and inspect your makeup in the mirror. “Don’t even start with that tonight, Gaby. You know Solo is just another smooth talking agent who wants to get in _every_ woman’s pants. He can be as suave as ever tonight and I won’t blink an eye. We’re playing parts, not actually married, and I don’t think I could really handle it if he only ever winked and smirked and fawned over me like a piece of meat anyway.”

She shrugs her shoulders, fixing her own waitress outfit and standing up straight. “How do I look?”

You pucker your lips, tapping your jaw and thinking a moment before smiling brightly. “Like the most adorable waitress in the world. I’d be surprised if Kuryakin can keep his eyes on the target and not you.” Now she’s the one to blush, rolling her eyes and pushing at your shoulder gently.

“Let’s go, I don’t want the boys to start panicking because we haven’t gotten out there yet. Remember, play nice with Solo, Mrs. Anderson,” she quips, leaving the room swiftly and knocking on the hotel room door just two over.

You’ve just stepped out of your own room, making sure it’s locked and closed tightly, when a hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer to a firm body that you’ve grown fairly accustomed to. “Nice to see you too, Mr. Anderson. Are you ready to go to the gala?”

There’s no response, making your brows furrow in confusion. Turning your head up to look at Napoleon, you see that he’s just staring at you with something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. Snapping your fingers in front of his face, you see him jolt, a sheepish smile taking over his features. _Well, that’s odd. Solo is never at a loss for words. First time for everything, I suppose._

He clears his throat, glancing over his shoulder and catching Illya’s eye, seeing the tall Russian smirking at him with a knowing look. “Of course, Mrs. Anderson. We had better get going before we’re presumed late, or worse.”

* * *

“You know, we should dance.”

You turn your gaze to Napoleon, pardon, _Thomas_ as you sip your wine. “Why would we do that? The two of us know you have two left feet.”

“I know, but it might seal the deal a little better. I mean, we’re supposed to be a happily married couple, and so far we’ve not kissed, barely touched, and not danced _once_. I don’t entirely think that’s passing off the “happy couple” that we are supposed to be.”

His words make sense, but are rushed, and his face is heated as he speaks. Taking a large gulp of water, he glances at you, your eyes meeting for a heated moment. You brush off whatever it is that passes between the two of you, shrugging and placing your finished wine down. Napoleon is shocked when your hand comes in from his right side, and you wait patiently for him to take it.

“Come on then, Mr. Anderson. We had better get out here and show everyone what we’re capable of,” you say, a small smile pulling on your lips.

For the first few dances, everything seems to be going well, until a rather slow song comes on, leading to your hand being placed over his shoulder, head resting on his chest. Napoleon immediately tenses, making you sigh exasperatedly. You shake his hand out, making sure he’s got the proper hold on you as the two of you dance.

“You need to relax, Solo. Someone is going to see how tense you are and think something is up. I’ve seen a few people give us looks already.”

“I-I just…you’re rather…close, don’t you think?” he manages to stutter out.

You can hear a chuckle in your ear, most likely from Kuryakin, who you can just see out of the corner of your eye. “Yes, but that’s how slow songs between couple’s work, Thomas. We’re supposed to be close. Now either hold me properly, or I’m going to take the lead.”

His grip becomes firmer around your waist, and you think it’s because of what you’ve said, but then he’s got you pressed even closer, and you have to take a deep breath of air.

“What’s going on?”

“Kiss me.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“ _Kiss me._ ”

“Why?”

“Because the target is coming this way, and he’s got a look on his face that makes me uncomfortable. Either he’s on to us, or he thinks that he’s going to cut in, and that’s not happening tonight. It’s not _supposed_ to happen tonight,” Napoleon whispers into your ear, practically snarling.

You chance a look at his face, seeing how tense he is, and how his eyes are wild with anger and…jealousy? Grabbing his jaw, you drag his face down to yours, kissing him gently, sighing into it when his hands grasp the back of your dress. You’re not sure how long the kiss lasts, but when the two of you part, you’re gasping for air, and he’s got lipstick smudged on his mouth.

Giggling softly, you swipe away at it, placing your head on his chest again. “Smooth move there, Mr. Anderson. Now, can we head home for the night? I think we’ve sufficiently gained the target’s attention.”

Napoleon nods, glaring at Illya, who is smirking from where he’s standing by a back wall. “Yes, let’s head home.”


End file.
